


Strangers in Paradise

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-20
Updated: 2012-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Changmin asks Yunho to visit him on Jeju Island during the filming of <i>Paradise Ranch</i>. He just wants some acting advice. Really. It’s not an excuse. Honestly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strangers in Paradise

Jeju Island is a long way from Seoul. The distance is good, as is the distraction and challenge offered by the filming of _Paradise Ranch_ , but Changmin also feels guilty. Even before he came here, he’d absented himself from the long, painful discussions that turned into long, acrimonious shouting matches, and while he’s glad to be away from the whole lawsuit mess, he doesn’t like the fact that Yunho is left alone to pick up the pieces.

Yunho is very bad at tidying things away, even when the things are metaphorical.

Changmin knows he can’t do anything from Jeju, so there’s no point in him worrying. What will happen, will happen without any further input from him, and he’ll just deal with it in due course. For now, he’ll focus on acting and give it his best shot.

He doesn’t mean to impose a no-contact ban. It’s just that he’s busy, his head full of Dong Joo and Da Ji, and he doesn’t call or text anyone for a while. Not Kyuhyun, not Minho, nor even his parents. They leave him messages, and he flicks through them of an evening and thinks of returning some of their calls, but it doesn’t feel urgent or important enough just yet. He likes being on his own, and besides, it’s not as if Yunho has tried to get in touch, either.

Changmin dislikes thinking in non-sequiturs. He sets the alarm for 5am and goes to sleep.

His phone buzzes, vibrating across the bedside table. Startled out of his slumber, Changmin curses and grabs for the phone. He knocks it onto the floor, where it continues trying to drill through the carpet. He turns on the light, insults the phone’s parentage, then scoops it up. He has a text message from Yunho: _Hi!_ _RU awake?_

Changmin thinks of several witty replies, but is too tired to make any of them. He grumbles, types back: _I am now. What is it?_

There’s a long pause. For someone with such quick reflexes on stage, Yunho has all the speed of a slug when it comes to texting. _Just want 2 talk_

Changmin squints at the time. Replies: _It’s 01.46_.

Another delay. Changmin almost nods off again, but then his phone vibrates. _Its only 22.10 here_ _think Jeju is in diff time zone_

Changmin snorts, types back: _Idiot_.

He waits for a response, watching the digital numbers change as time moves on. His eyes feel dry and gritty. He yawns, stretches one way and then the other. He flips back the duvet and lets the draught from the air con ghost over his chest. Still nothing. He glowers at the mute display. If he tries to sleep now, Yunho will just text him again and he’ll wake up again and be even more tired in the morning. Better for him to wait.

He taps his fingers against the phone. Six minutes pass. Impatient, Changmin texts: _Talk to me already_.

A pause, and then comes the reply: _Ok!!_

Changmin sighs. Normal people would just call straight away on receipt of the message. Normal people wouldn’t spend two minutes replying. Normal people would also limit their smiley usage.

“Why aren’t you normal?” Changmin demands when he answers the phone on its first ring.

“I don’t know,” Yunho says. “Why are you so far away?”

It begins there. Innocent and innocuous at first, short conversations about nothing very much. They’ve always been able to talk to one another, and after a couple of days of calls, Changmin realises he’s missed this. He starts texting his friends, talks to his parents, but reserves time every evening for conversations with Yunho. Gradually the calls get longer, and if one day they’re serious, the next day they’re flippant, and always, always, Yunho is funny and affectionate but he’s holding back, and Changmin doesn’t want to push too hard because he can’t do anything, not from so far away.

Then something else creeps into their conversations.

“I’m hot,” Changmin complains one night. “Hot and sweaty. I think the air con is broken. The room feels like a furnace and I can only open the window a little bit, and I feel all ugh and sticky.”

Yunho makes a sympathetic noise. “What are you wearing?”

“Underwear,” Changmin says, then stops. Awareness bolts through him. He tries to laugh it off. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.” His voice has dried up. Definitely the fault of the air con.

“What? It’s not like I can see you.” Yunho sounds innocent, but that means nothing. “I was just going to say that if you have jeans and three t-shirts and a jumper on, then you should take them off if you’re feeling hot.”

“I never wear three t-shirts.”

“You do, I’ve seen you.”

“I’m not wearing three t-shirts now, okay? And I’m still too hot.”

There’s a pause, and then Yunho says brightly, “I’m naked.”

Changmin almost drops the phone. “ _What?_ ”

“I’m naked,” Yunho says again.

“I didn’t need to know that!” Changmin tries to banish a barrage of images of Yunho unclothed and draped in a succession of inviting poses over the sofa, the kitchen table, the bed. “How can you talk to me while you’re naked? Put some clothes on. Oh my God, how can you be naked and talking to me, that’s just stupid.”

Another pause. “I’m only naked because... well, I’m all alone. There’s no one here. The place is completely empty.” Yunho sounds just as empty. “I can do what I like. I can run around naked if I want. There’s no one here to care.”

That knocks Changmin off-balance. He swallows a rise of emotion. “Okay. But will you at least get under a blanket or something? I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

There’s a rustling, dragging sound from the other end of the line, presumably the requested blanket, and then Yunho says, “You care.”

Changmin exhales in a huff. “I just don’t want the visuals.”

Except he does, and imagining Yunho naked keeps Changmin awake for the next few nights, or if not awake then he’s in that half waking, half dreaming state where the mind runs rampant and the subconscious unlocks all kinds of fantasies that spill through Changmin’s head and make him hard, make him grasp his erection and jerk off, mumbling and groaning and with his skin too tight and hot, and each morning he wakes in a slime of puddled semen and an agony of embarrassment.

*

He’s very precise about the timing of the next conversation. He watches TV and delays having a shower until two minutes before Yunho is due to call him. Changmin strips off in a hurry and goes into the bathroom, leaving the door open. He doesn’t turn on the shower. He waits. Counts the tiles between the sink and the ceiling, multiplies them by the number of tiles between the walls, works out how many tiles were needed to decorate the bathroom, each floor, the whole hotel.

The phone rings.

Changmin darts out of the bathroom and drops onto the bed. He answers the phone. “I was in the shower.”

Yunho draws in a breath. “I’m sorry, I’ll call later.”

“No,” says Changmin. “It’s just... I’m naked.”

“Oh.” There’s a long silence. “I see,” Yunho adds, even though he can’t.

More silence. This isn’t how Changmin envisaged it. Not that he’d spent any amount of time imagining this scenario, but even if he had, then it wouldn’t be happening as awkwardly as this. Heat climbs to his cheeks. He grips the phone tight and says, “Right, well, I’ll have that shower, then.”

Yunho makes a confused sound. “I thought you said you’d just had one?”

“Well, no. Actually. Anyway, I’m going now.” Changmin cuts the call. He feels flat. He lies beside the phone for another minute and then goes into the bathroom. He closes the door, turns on the shower, and soaks under the hot water until the sense of humiliation is washed away.

When he pads back into the bedroom, towel around his waist and his hair dripping, Changmin sees that he’s had eight missed calls, all of them from Yunho. He’s dismissing them from the display when the phone rings again. He answers it on reflex. “What?”

“Did you enjoy your shower?” Yunho asks.

Changmin rubs his forehead. Exhales. “I’m naked and wet.”

Silence drags out. A strange kind of tension creeps in. Finally Yunho says, very softly, almost cautiously, “I’d like to see you like that.”

Lust roars up and poleaxes Changmin. He makes a strangled, quavering noise.

“Changminnie?” Yunho prompts, soft and husky.

“Oh God,” Changmin blurts out, “I can’t—” and he hangs up.

He waits for Yunho to ring back, to text, but the phone remains silent for the rest of the night.

*

Changmin doesn’t know what’s possessed him. He considers himself a straightforward kind of guy, someone who doesn’t play games. He doesn’t even know how to flirt, for fuck’s sake. In photo-shoots, whenever the photographer asks them to be sexy for the camera, Changmin always ends up scowling or looking fed up. So what the hell is he doing with Yunho?

It’s because he’s far away, Changmin rationalises. Yunho is safe because he’s in Seoul and on the end of a phone line. It’s just pretend. Just acting. Yes, it’s acting—kind of—and Changmin wants to do a good job with _Paradise Ranch_ , and he feels uncomfortable flirting with Yeon Hee or Ha Na even when they’re on set in the middle of shooting a scene, so it makes sense for him to practice flirting over the phone with Yunho. Because he trusts Yunho, because Yunho is safe, he’s not here, and nothing will ever happen between them.

Yeah. That’s what it is.

Changmin is much more relaxed when Yunho next calls him. There’s no weirdness, none at all. Changmin chatters on about how long it takes him to get the smell of horseshit out of his nose at the end of the day, and how living in a farm must be so draughty, and he thinks he saw a mouse this morning, a real live mouse, when he realises that Yunho hasn’t said very much. That’s kind of unusual, so Changmin stops, takes a breath, and says, “Are you all right?”

“No,” Yunho says, voice small. “No, I’m not.”

“I really did see a mouse,” Changmin tells him, hoping the inanity is enough of a distraction. “You’d have liked it. It was brown.”

Yunho makes a snuffling sound. Changmin’s heart drops when he realises it’s not laughter but the wobble of grief. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. He’s never been good at offering comfort. He just gets on with stuff. Yunho isn’t like that. He holds onto things even when they’re hurting him and he has to have his fingers prised free with crowbars.

“It’s okay,” Yunho says after a moment. “It’s just... It’s okay.”

Changmin makes a noncommittal sound.

“Tell me more about the mouse.” Yunho tries to regain his equilibrium, but his voice keeps wavering. “Did you run away from it?”

“No.” Changmin doesn’t want to talk about the stupid mouse. “Yunho,” he says, “come here. Come and visit. Even if it’s only for a day. Just... come here.”

Yunho is silent for a long time. “Is that such a good idea?”

The question makes Changmin bristle. “Why not? We’re friends. Maybe I’m asking you for acting advice. Come and give it to me.”

Yunho breathes out a soft laugh. “Come and give you...”

“Acting advice,” Changmin says, too quickly for either of them to believe it.

Silence. “Changmin,” Yunho says, and he sounds serious now, “do you really want acting advice?”

Changmin holds the silence for even longer, his body tensing, insides twisting. “No,” he forces out. “I just want—” shit, it’s hard to admit it, why is it so hard—“want you. To come here.”

The line is quiet, so quiet that Changmin hears the soft, swift hitch in Yunho’s breathing, and then Yunho says, “Let me clear whatever passes for my schedule these days and I’ll be on the next plane.”

*

Changmin changes his mind as soon as the call is ended.

He rolls over on the bed and stares at the wall. How is he going to get out of this? He sits up, reaches for the script for tomorrow’s scenes, and goes through them word by word. It’s no good. It’s like he’s reading without any context. Images of Yunho fill his head. Hot, sexy images of the two of them fucking like animals. He’s not sure when, exactly, the images of Yunho naked turned into images of Yunho naked and fucking him, but now it’s the only thing in his mind and he just can’t stop thinking about it.

He presses his palm against his aching erection and groans helplessly. Sex in paradise should be uncomplicated, but this has all the makings of a disaster.

When Yunho texts with his flight details and a row of smileys, Changmin replies: _Don’t come_.

Ten minutes crawl by, and then a message comes through. It’s exactly the same text, except it has more smileys at the end of it.

Changmin lets out an infuriated sigh. He tosses the phone across the bed, turns facedown, and pummels the mattress.

*

He has three days to make Yunho change his mind. At least the company aren’t making a big thing out of it; someone, somewhere, seems to understand the meaning of the word ‘discretion’ even if it’s only because of the lawsuit. Changmin looks into the cloudless sky and prays for a typhoon, or heavy snowfall, or any other kind of unseasonal, inclement weather. Nothing happens.

He picks at his dinner at the hotel and wonders if he could pretend to be sick. No, that wouldn’t put Yunho off. Yunho would find a way of getting here even faster, just so he could wipe Changmin’s fevered brow and carry him to hospital. Maybe he should say there’s a contagion. Ebola. Leprosy. Zombies. Something that needs to be quarantined. Except Yunho would probably charter a damn boat and then swim the rest of the way, just to be annoying.

It’s not annoying, though. Not really. Whenever Changmin isn’t thinking properly, excitement bubbles up inside him at the knowledge that Yunho is coming to visit. Then he catches himself smiling or daydreaming about things he has no business thinking about, and he gets angry and pulls out his phone to text Yunho: _Don’t come, don’t come, just don’t_.

Yunho sends back row upon row of smileys.

It’s driving Changmin insane.

*

Changmin doesn’t sleep well the night before Yunho arrives. By the time he gets out of bed for the 5am start, his head feels drained and he’s so tired he doesn’t know how he’s going to dress himself or eat breakfast, let alone get through several hours of filming. He can’t even think of Yunho, can’t cope with the idea of him being on set or in the hotel or, well, just being on the island in general. Changmin staggers into the bathroom and splashes cold water over his face. It’s only as he blears into the mirror as he brushes his hair that he realises—suddenly, shockingly—that he’s scared.

The knowledge freaks him out. Makes his heart race. He puts down the brush, stares at his reflection. He looks wary, his mouth set tense.

“I am not scared of Yunho,” he tells himself. “He’s not scary. He’s soft and silly and affectionate and he’s coming here to give me acting advice.”

His reflection gives him a frankly disbelieving look.

“It’s true!” he assures himself, wagging a finger at the mirror. “He’s coming here because I asked him. And I only asked him because he sounded sad. Like he needed cheering up. And the best way to cheer him up is to make him believe he’s needed. He likes being useful, right? That’s all it is.”

He stares at his reflection, which seems to believe him. Or at least it does right up until the moment his reflection opens his mouth and forms the word _Liar_.

“Shit.” Changmin turns away from the mirror. He runs his hands over his face. “Fuck it. I can’t—”

He breaks off, strides back into the bedroom, and snatches up his phone. He hits speed dial and calls Yunho. It goes to voicemail. Surely he can’t be on the plane already? Changmin whines in desperation, tries the number again. Same result. Hands trembling more from frustration than anxiety, he types in a message: _DON’T COME DON’T COME DON’T COME_.

He hesitates, thumb over the button to send it. What’s the use? It’s not like he can stop the tide. Changmin deletes the message and sits down on the edge of the bed, aware of nervousness roiling around inside him, a squirmy sense of anticipation rising and gathering speed.

*

He has a headache all day, a niggling band of tension that fastens across his shoulders and gnaws at the base of his skull. Changmin takes some pills, swings his arms, but nothing shifts it. He focuses on the script, but even as he goes through the motions of acting, he’s aware of time ticking, aware of the aeroplane that’s bringing Yunho ever closer.

During breaks between filming, Changmin ignores his phone and doesn’t look at his watch. Lunchtime comes and goes, and the thrumming nervousness smoothes out into resignation and acceptance. The plane has surely landed by now. Yunho is on the island. Changmin starts to feel better.

They continue filming. In the next break, he takes out his phone. The display is blank but for the time. No text messages. No missed calls. Changmin puts it back in his pocket. Takes it out again. Puts it back.

Yeon Hee does a couple of short reaction scenes on her own. Changmin perches on a wall and kicks one foot against the stonework. His phone remains silent. He doesn’t know if he should worry. What if Yunho decided not to come after all? He eyes every approaching vehicle with a mixture of apprehension and hope, but each time it’s nothing and no one, and Changmin feels abandoned.

Finally he thinks to check the flight schedule on the airport website. There’s been a delay at Gimpo. He’s relieved. And disappointed.

Filming ends for the day and Changmin returns to the hotel. He doesn’t have to be on set until lunchtime tomorrow, but the prospect of a lie-in doesn’t make him feel better. He knows he hasn’t done his best today and is determined to make up for the lack tomorrow. Now he’s tired and bad-tempered and feels both hungry and not-hungry at the same time, which is just irritating. As he flops onto the bed, a text comes through: _Im @airport!_ _Where RU?_

Changmin wishes smileys hadn’t been invented. He types: _At the hotel. Get a taxi._

 _Ok!!!1!_

Fucking smileys. Fucking illiterate texters. Changmin throws down the phone and goes into the bathroom. He comes out again a moment later and texts back: _Don’t be you. Please._

He returns to the shower, turns the dial all the way up, and stands beneath the hammering needles of too-hot water. He knows he’s trying to deflect the unbearable ache of his desire. Even worse, he knows it’s not working.

*

Changmin is drying off when he hears a knock at the door. His heart stops, then starts pounding. He’s not ready, not in any sense of the word. Clumsy with haste, he hops into his jeans and pulls on a shirt, the cotton dragging over his wet skin as he fumbles with the buttons. He catches sight of himself in the mirrored doors of the wardrobe and pauses, not quite recognising what he sees. He looks flushed, excited, uncertain.

Annoyed, he crosses the room, rehearsing things to say. _Hey, sorry the flight was delayed, never mind, you’re here now, let’s get some dinner, you must be hungry, I’m hungry, oh let me introduce you to the entire cast and crew and why not the hotel staff, too, and we can have drinks later and did I mention I have to be up kind of early—_

He stops at the door. A dozen butterflies take flight and whirl inside him. He flattens his hand on the wall, takes a deep breath to crush the butterflies, and then snatches open the door.

Yunho is leaning against the doorframe. His head is tilted down, but as soon as the door opens, he looks up. His hair is shorter than Changmin remembers, faded colour ruffled through at the tips. He’s wearing a black velvet jacket and one of those really unfair deep v-necked t-shirts that shows off his collarbones and half of his chest, and black jeans and really stupid beach sandals. Changmin stares at the sandals and thinks he can do this. It’ll be okay, everything’s normal, it doesn’t need to be weird between them.

Then Yunho says, “Can I come in?” and his voice is soft and purring and the sound of it scrapes up Changmin’s spine like love-bites.

Changmin steps back in mute invitation. All the distracting chatter he’d rehearsed has vanished. He swallows.

Yunho comes in. Closes the door. He kicks off the stupid sandals. Now they’re no longer part of the outfit, he looks sleek and dangerous and so fucking sexy that Changmin doesn’t know how he’s going to survive the next five minutes, let alone the next twenty-four hours, or is it only eighteen hours now because of the delay, or sixteen hours, or... He tries to shut off the direction of his thoughts and gropes for something to say, but he’s got nothing. All he can do is stare and wait in helpless anticipation.

Yunho tilts his head, gaze running over him with wanton curiosity. The tip of his tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip. He smiles. It’s not sweet and affectionate. It’s predatory.

A kick of lust floors Changmin. He takes another step back.

Yunho closes the gap between them, going right into Changmin’s space. Changmin has never seen him like this before, never ever, and while it’s disconcerting, it’s also really fucking hot. His pulse drums. He shifts, aware of the ticklish yearning of arousal. If only he could think of something to say, he could reclaim the moment and break the spell.

But it’s Yunho who speaks first, his gaze intense. “You’ve been thinking about this all day.”

Changmin can’t deny it. He nods.

“Thinking about this.” Yunho rubs a hand over Changmin’s thigh, runs it inwards to brush over the bulge of his erection. Changmin jerks back and hisses in response. Yunho chuckles. His voice lowers. “You’ve been thinking about me.”

Changmin makes a little whimpering noise.

Yunho pulls away and struts halfway to the bed, letting his jacket slide down his arms. He drops it to the floor with utter disregard and turns, hands on hips, all fire and arrogance. “You called. I came. What do you want me to do to you?”

Still stunned, Changmin gapes after him like a landed fish.

Yunho narrows his eyes. “I’m very expensive. Don’t waste my time, boy.”

Realisation splinters through the shock. Changmin remembers his last text: _Don’t be you_. He’d meant don’t be annoying, don’t be stupidly cheerful, don’t try to pretend that everything’s fine—but Yunho obviously took it more literally. He’s not being him. He’s being someone else. He’s acting. He’s pretending to be a—a...

 _Hooker_ , Changmin’s mind slaps at him. _He’s a hooker and you’re his client. Shit, this is perfect, you can fuck each other and it won’t matter because it’s not real, this is genius, he’s a genius, no, you’re a genius, it was your idea even if you didn’t mean it like that, and what the hell are you waiting for—_

Changmin blunders forward and grabs hold of Yunho’s arms. “I want,” he says, words rusting in his throat, “I want...” and kisses him.

Yunho opens his mouth. No playful kisses here, this is deep and long and hungry, all tongues and the clash of teeth as they puzzle out how they fit together. Changmin’s cock jabs at the constriction of the denim. He rocks forward from his hips and feels another jolt of lust when he rubs against Yunho’s erection. He sucks on Yunho’s tongue, bites the corner of his mouth, steals his air.

“It’s extra for kisses,” Yunho tells him, breathing fast.

“Don’t care.” Changmin kisses him again. “I can afford it.”

“Can you?” Yunho thrusts his tongue between Changmin’s lips again, slow and possessive, then he pulls back. His eyes flash a challenge as he unbuttons Changmin’s shirt and shoves it to the floor. Yunho splays a hand, strokes him from chest to waist. “Oh, you’re sexy. Aren’t I a lucky bunny? So very, very sexy.”

Changmin mumbles something and pulls at Yunho’s t-shirt. Yunho yanks it off. Changmin wants to look at him for a moment, but his gaze skitters and he knows he’s blushing. He tries to get into his role as demanding client, but shyness knots his voice. He contents himself with running his hands up Yunho’s back and across his shoulders before bringing him closer and kissing him again.

Yunho puts both hands on Changmin’s hips and guides him back towards the bed. Changmin catches sight of them in the mirrored wardrobe and freezes. Yunho really seems to be into it, his eyes closed as they kiss and sexy little noises purring from his throat. The idea that Yunho is a better actor than him makes Changmin grab a handful of Yunho’s ass and tip them both back onto the bed.

“At times like these, foreplay is overrated,” Yunho announces with a grin, squirming about as he works at the buttons of Changmin’s jeans. The buttons slide free with indecent haste and Yunho gives a throaty growl. “No underwear, Changminnie? You bad, _bad_ boy.”

“I didn’t—it’s because...” Changmin babbles, trying to excuse himself until he realises Yunho really isn’t interested.

His jeans are kicked away, and then Yunho pounces. He kisses Changmin again, a dizzying drag of lips and tongue, and holds Changmin’s arms down, hands curled over biceps as he licks a warm, wet line down Changmin’s throat and across his chest to bite at his nipples.

“Fuck,” Changmin says. “Oh, fuck.”

Yunho rocks back like he’s kowtowing, his grip loosening slightly as he kiss-licks every ridge of muscle in Changmin’s abs. He wriggles, thighs pressed wide and the black denim straining, the fabric rubbing across Changmin’s heated skin. “Mm,” Yunho sighs against Changmin’s navel, nuzzling down one side of Changmin’s cock. Yunho swirls his tongue through Changmin’s pubic hair, closes his lips around it and tugs gently.

Changmin jacks his hips up and makes strangled noises. He grabs for Yunho’s head, wanting to shove him down onto his cock, but Yunho draws away and noses at Changmin’s balls. Yunho gives a happy chirrup and presses his face right into Changmin’s groin, tongue delving and flicking and making everything so much wetter and harder.

The room tilts. Changmin pants. Moans. He gets both hands in Yunho’s hair and wrenches him up. He has to get his dick in Yunho’s mouth _now_. He jabs up, feels warm skin and the butterfly kiss of saliva-slick lips, and Changmin stares down the length of his body at the utterly filthy sight of Yunho dabbing his tongue over the swollen cockhead, flicker-flicker, like a snake, tongue pink and curving and greedy.

“God fuck shit,” Changmin says and comes, fast and sudden.

Immediately afterwards he’s embarrassed, but the apology dies in his throat when he sees Yunho’s face and chest striped with spunk. Changmin’s horrified, but also not. He wants to decorate Yunho from head to foot like that. He has no control, none at all. He watches Yunho wipe at the ribbons of semen and lick his hands clean, and Changmin groans and is horny all over again.

Yunho leans forward on his hands and knees, his gaze bright. “Did that take the edge off, baby? You’ll last longer next time. What shall we do next?”

An onslaught of images runs through Changmin’s head like a pornographic flick-book. He grits his teeth against temptation. He is not going to let Yunho beat him. He’s the better actor. He can win this game. Steadying his breathing, he stares up at Yunho and gives him a look of imperious command. “Take those jeans off. Show me what you’ve got.”

Amusement glitters in Yunho’s eyes. He kneels upright and undoes the button in the waistband, arching back very slightly so his hips tilt forward, showing off the bulge of his erection. Changmin’s mouth goes dry and he leans up on his elbows, gaze fixed to Yunho’s hand on the zipper as it tracks downwards. Changmin swallows, a click-click in his throat as the jeans and underwear slide down to mid-thigh and Yunho’s cock springs up, curving hot and tight against his abs.

Changmin stares. “I want,” he says, the words slurred, “I want you inside me.”

Yunho strokes himself, eyes gone dark with lust. “Where inside you? Tell me.”

“Everywhere.” Changmin wants multiples of Yunho so he can feel him everywhere, in his ass, in his mouth, in his hands, rubbing all over his skin. He whimpers, stares at the length and girth of Yunho’s cock, stares at the slit glistening with pre-come, and says, “Come here.”

Yunho leans to one side, digs a hand in his jeans pocket and pulls out half a dozen bubble packs of lube. He scatters them across the duvet, drags off his clothes, and crawls over Changmin. They kiss again and Changmin grabs for Yunho’s dick, wanting to make him come the way Yunho had made him come, fast and messy and without control. Yunho lowers himself, rubs against him, his erection dragging over Changmin’s body, silvering him with a snail’s trail of wetness. Changmin arches up, grabs at him again, trying to get enough friction to thrust against him. “Don’t tease.”

“I don’t intend to,” Yunho says, his eyes rich with promise. He swings up to sit astride Changmin’s waist and settles there, flaunting himself, closing his fist around his cock and jerking off, tipping back his head and making fluttery little sounds of pleasure.

Changmin watches him in a daze, breath spiralling until he feels dizzy, and then he gathers his strength and roars, “I said _don’t tease_ ,” and surges up, sprawling Yunho across the bed. Changmin dives at him, gets between Yunho’s splayed legs, bites the inside of his thigh. His skin is hot, the taste of his sweat like the tang of salt in the air down by the ocean.

Yunho is shameless. He purrs and hooks his legs around Changmin’s shoulders. “You want to do me like this?”

The idea of fucking Yunho winds Changmin like a punch to the gut. He wants, oh yes he wants, but he’s still uncertain how far he’s permitted to go within this fantasy. Blowing the fringe from his eyes, he summons hauteur. “You have to earn that. You have to make me come again first.”

Excitement burns in Yunho’s expression. “Whatever you want.”

“I want you to lick me,” Changmin says. “I want you to eat me out.”

Yunho stares at him and groans, a hungry, needy sound. He flips them again, no longer playful but totally in control. He holds Changmin in a loose arm-lock as he grabs the pillows and piles them up, and then he shoves Changmin down on top of them, hips raised, ass in the air.

“Oh God,” Changmin tells the mattress. His cock slides against the layered pillows, the creases in the Egyptian cotton rubbing against his shaft. Yunho spreads Changmin’s legs. “Oh,” Changmin pants, closing his eyes. “Oh _God_.”

Yunho licks him, licks him all the way down, tracing his tongue through dark hair and over the bundled nerves between Changmin’s hole and his balls. Yunho makes him all wet, makes enthusiastic slurping noises that slide on down Changmin’s spine and burst into his head in gleeful delight. Yunho drops onto his forearms and burrows even closer, sucking Changmin’s balls into his mouth one at a time, tongue teasing and rolling them within the sac.

Staccato gasps drive their way out of Changmin’s throat and turn into frantic pleas. He’s drooling onto the mattress, wipes his mouth across the sheet. He doesn’t care, can’t care, fingers gripping, hips squirming, thrusting back for more.

Yunho licks back up, tongue-tip flicker-teasing Changmin’s perineum, until Changmin’s begging turns into incoherency and he spreads his legs wider. Yunho nuzzles at him, bites the cheeks of his ass. Changmin squeezes his eyes closed, tearing up with pleasure. He turns his head, his face wet, opens his eyes again and sees their reflection in the mirror. Lust stuns him. It’s the dirtiest thing he’s ever seen. A desperate noise escapes him. He jerks forward, lifts his ass higher. His cock is so hot and tight it’s painful. He grips it, moaning, and tugs.

Lifting his head, Yunho notices that Changmin’s attention is fixed on the mirror. He gives him a wicked grin, sets his hands on Changmin’s ass and spreads his cheeks, then gets stuck in. The sloppy wet noises drive Changmin almost demented, but then Yunho presses his tongue against Changmin’s hole, circling, stabbing, and Changmin breaks, thrashes about on the heap of pillows. His grip tightens on his cock, desperate not to come just yet, desperate to ride this a little longer. Shattered sounds tumble across the mattress as Yunho fucks him, forcing his tongue past the tight ring of muscle. Changmin feels everything in him melt and quiver even as his cock gets harder and bigger.

Yunho turns his head, face smeared with saliva. “Are you going to come, Changminnie?”

“Yes,” Changmin wails. “Yes oh yes oh _fuck_ —”

“Not yet.” Yunho slaps Changmin’s ass hard enough to make him yelp, the stinging pain a distraction rather than a goad. “You’ll come when I’m inside you.”

Changmin mewls, a greedy sound that pulses through him like an electric shock. He reaches back, demanding, wanting.

Yunho grabs for the lube, slicks it on, lines himself up. Changmin quivers with need, wild with lust. The head of Yunho’s cock slides, notches, pushes in. Changmin lets out a breathless sob: “You’re too big, I can’t—” even as he pushes back, wanting it, wanting it all. They join, Changmin’s hole stretching wider, his heart pounding, head buzzing. He gasps, sweat sheening his face, salt on his tongue. He looks sidelong at the mirror, watches Yunho sink into him, sees the concentration and desire on his face. The sight pulls Changmin higher, allows him to disassociate from the discomfort, as if the visuals and the sensation are two separate things. He lifts his hips, catches his breath. “Please,” he says, power coiling like a lash inside him, “fuck me.”

Yunho loses control. He grabs Changmin’s hips and works into him, hot and hard and urgent. Changmin spreads himself out, hungry and grasping after more and more, the pain melding into pleasure: the ache in his ass, the pull through his thighs, the tension along his spine, across his shoulders, everything rolling together and building; his cock wet and hot and the pillow beneath him soaked with pre-come, the sheet beneath him damp with sweat, with his saliva. He’s tight and sticky and Yunho is driving into him, fucking him so hard that Changmin opens his mouth to scream but he can’t, not yet, not yet. Yunho’s hands slip, change position, dig into his flesh, bruise his hips, claw into his ass, and Changmin ramps up, offering more, deeper, offering everything, and Yunho takes it, takes it all.

Changmin comes, losing himself in a crash of ecstasy and great pulsing shots of seed. He clutches down on the sensation, his body jolting like the snap of a whip. Yunho keens; Changmin hears his name ripped from Yunho in a kind of shocked wonder, and then Yunho spurts inside him, hot and vivid and so incredibly _right_.

“Love you,” Changmin gasps, the words garbled, his head swinging with the rush. The room is spinning; he’s burning up, breathing hard as he inches from the wet patch and knocks most of the pillows onto the floor. “Not pretending any more. Love you.”

“I know,” Yunho says, hoarse and sweaty, his chest heaving, every part of him hot to the touch. “I know, I know, I know.”

*

Changmin wakes in the darkness before dawn, muzzy-headed and with an ache of satisfaction rolling through him. The sheets smell of sex, ripe with musk and sweat. His morning erection thickens and surges at the memory. He struggles free of the rucked quilt, rolls over, and leans up on one elbow. “Hey.”

Yunho is standing at the window, one hand edged through the gauzy curtain to touch the glass. He seems oblivious to his nudity, but then he’s always been comfortable in his own skin. He draws in a breath, turns to look at Changmin. Smiles slightly.

“Mm,” says Changmin, not quite able to ask him to come back to bed. He holds out an arm instead, crooks his fingers in silent demand.

Yunho comes to him, rearranging the duvet as he slides beneath it and cuddles against Changmin. “Was that okay?” he asks, voice hushed, expression anxious in the half light.

Changmin stares at him. Of all the words to describe what they did last night, ‘okay’ is so ridiculously feeble as to be an insult. He can’t even begin to think of appropriate adjectives, so he just keeps staring until he realises that Yunho is taking the prolonged silence as proof that last night wasn’t okay at all.

“No,” says Changmin, curling one hand around Yunho’s arm. “Yes.” He knows he’s not making any sense. He tries again. “You were—it was... magnificent.”

Yunho shudders with relief, his eyes closing as he finally relaxes down onto the mattress. “I couldn’t bear it if I disappointed you.”

“No,” Changmin says again. “You didn’t. You couldn’t.” As if to prove it, he kisses him.

Desire lights, flares. They fit together, move together, natural and uncomplicated. Changmin murmurs things into the kiss that sound like incoherent noises, but he knows what they mean and he hopes Yunho does, too. He slides his hands down and grips Yunho’s ass. He dips in his fingers, aware of the acceleration of Yunho’s breathing, the sudden thunder of his pulse, and the heat they’re stoking between them. “Can I,” Changmin asks, “can I...?”

Yunho quivers. “Anything. Anything you want.”

Changmin disentangles himself, flips Yunho onto his front, then scrabbles across the duvet in search of the plastic bubbles of lube. He’s trembling when he slicks himself up, shaking when his cock nudges and stabs and misses completely. Yunho reaches back and helps him, lifts up and makes a gorgeous, soft whispery sound when Changmin sinks inside. Changmin pushes and pushes until he’s buried deep and then he lies there, mouth open in a wet, silent scream against Yunho’s shoulder and sparks catching and burning behind his eyelids.

*

When Changmin wakes again, the sun is up and Yunho has gone.

Changmin raises his arms above his head and stretches, makes a pleased purr at the back of his throat, then he sighs and lies back on the pillows. Through the gauzy curtains, he can see that it’s a beautiful day.

He checks his phone. There’s a message from Yunho: _U rly dont need acting advice. Ur a natural_

Changmin looks at the time. Types: _I hope your flight gets delayed again. If it does, come back to bed._

A pause, and then up pops the message: _Its not, Im boarding. Thx 4 Paradise_

Changmin reads the text again, smiles at the sense of joy feathering inside him, and replies: 


End file.
